Wouldn't Be The First Time
by blueowls
Summary: Santana x Brittany. /She's sinking off the top of the pyramid as Coach Sylvester watches./


**Author Note: **Fluff.

**Disclaimer:** I own nothing.

**Wouldn't Be The First Time**

Quinn's too busy making eyes at Puck to see that the freshman holding Santana up is slowly losing her grip. Santana glances down, knowing that doing so is likely to have Coach Sylvester on her in a heartbeat, waving the bullhorn threateningly and producing a string of nonsensical insults as she stalks around the pyramid. But getting yelled at is not the problem. Santana can take as good as she can give, but it would be public and in front of Quinn, so there's no way she's going to let it happen.

Santana feels her knee almost give as the freshman's grip slips even further, the hand under her foot that's supposed to be boosting her up only dipping another fraction. There's nothing she can actually say to fix it because Coach Sylvester is watching from the bleachers, the hard glint in her eyes telling them all that the first girl to put one toe out of line is going to be verbally eviscerated. Santana keeps her arms up, biting down hard on her bottom lip to keep from cursing as the freshman's grip slips ever further. She's sinking off the top of the pyramid as Coach Sylvester watches.

Quinn's standing on the dirt track, jaw stiff as she tries to decide whether to keep silent or call Santana out on it. Either way, Santana knows, Quinn will lay the blame on her, and she feels distaste bubble up inside her, just barely overpowering the fear of Coach Sylvester turning her stomach. She's going to get chewed out for Quinn's mistake on top of being dropped onto the packed dirt of the football field, and there's nothing she can do about it.

But the freshman pushes up suddenly on the bottom of her foot, and Santana almost topples over backwards before she catches her balance, swaying imperceptibly―she hopes―as she feels fingers wrap tight around her ankle. Santana looks down without moving, seeing blonde hair flash in the periphery of her vision.

Brittany's behind the freshman, out of Coach Sylvester's line of sight and helping the freshman hold her up. She's supposed to be in the background doing a handstand behind the pyramid, and she looks up at Santana, smiling like they're not both facing certain death if they're caught ruining a perfectly executed move. Santana nods stiffly in acknowledgment before looking up toward the bleachers as feedback crackles from the bullhorn.

"Terrible. Absolutely terrible," Coach Sylvester says flatly. It's always worse when she's calm, because she's only predictable when she's angry. "I'd tell you to hit the showers, but the smell of your deep, ingrained failure is no doubt impossible to wash off. Get out of my sight."

Santana suppresses the urge to kick the freshman once she's back down on the grass and instead holds out a hand blindly, feeling Brittany link pinkies with her before she pops up alongside her, their steps in sync as they head for the locker room. It wouldn't be the first time that Brittany's saved her from falling, and it probably won't be the last.

It's little things that Santana seems to remember. A cursory look outside her window one morning shows blue skies and sunshine peeking over the roof of the house next door, and she slips into her uniform before pulling her hair up into a ponytail and stepping out of the bathroom. Brittany's sitting on her bed, waiting for her with the long-sleeved under armor on under her top and not looking at all like they only got three hours of sleep last night or that a perfect, cloudless day is starting.

"But it's sunny outside," Santana says, motioning toward the window, and Brittany only shrugs, threading an arm through one of the straps of her backpack before shouldering it.

"Yeah," she admits, but she doesn't change into something cooler, and as they're stepping out the door, Santana sees her reach around the coat rack in the hall, slipping an umbrella into her backpack before brushing her lips against her cheek in a kiss as they walk out the door. By lunch, Santana's sitting at their usual table with Brittany on one side, playing with the edge of her Cheerio skirt under the table and twisting one of the pleats absentmindedly, and Quinn on the other, pushing around food to make it look like she's eaten anything, watching through the windows as it starts to drizzle and then rain.

She freezes her ass off on the walk home, but Brittany shares her umbrella with her. There's no knowing smile on her face or condescending _I told you so_ about fall weather. Just a warm hand reaching for hers, clasping stiff fingers as she holds the umbrella over both of them.

There are innumerable similar incidents in the time it takes them to get out of Lima and find a place of their own. They're late for a weekend meet-up with Quinn―and that goes without saying that Rachel is there, too―and Santana can already see the disapproving frown on Rachel's face as they walk into the restaurant, late as usual. Jiggling her keys in her hand impatiently, she sets them down on the counter as she leans a hip against it, shifting her bag from her shoulder onto the counter top as she searches for the scrap of paper Quinn had given her with the address of the restaurant written on it.

"Ready, babe?" Brittany says as she wanders into the kitchen, popping open the fridge and reaching inside for a Coke, and Santana cuts the nagging _don't drink that_ on the tip of her tongue short, coming up with a scrap of paper. She flips it over as Brittany pops the tab of the can, settling behind her and resting her chin on her shoulder as Santana sighs in frustration before wadding the paper up and tossing it at the nearby toaster.

"I can't find the address," she snaps, and she feels Brittany exhale deeply, breath ghosting across her neck as she leans forward, reaching into her bag and into a side pocket and effortlessly producing a piece of paper. Santana takes it and purses her lips. It has the address on it, and Brittany sets the Coke down on the counter as she steps back, one hand already circling Santana's wrist and tugging her toward the front door.

"Rachel's going to be mad," Brittany says as they close the door behind them. She lets go of Santana and presses something into her other hand, and she's down the front steps and getting in the car before Santana sees that she's now holding the keys she left on the counter, back in her hands before she even realized she left them behind.

It's nothing as ridiculous as Brittany being able to see into the future. Brittany just sees her blind spots before Santana realizes they're even there. So when she comes home from another grueling day of work to find the blonde sitting calmly at the kitchen table, a packed duffel bag sitting at her feet and her house key placed in front of her, she accepts the soft "I'm leaving" as something that was simply inevitable.

* * *

Being able to drink a beer in the living room and set it on the coffee table without a coaster or leave dirty laundry on the floor of the bedroom doesn't really make up for an empty house and constant silence. When Quinn calls her up and pauses before replying that _yes_, Brittany's going to be there too, Santana sighs and tries to come up with an excuse to miss the baby shower. But Quinn sees through the bullshit like she always has.

"Who else is going to be there?" she asks, having lost the argument.

"You can't avoid each other forever, Santana. But it's the usual crowd."

Santana lets out a long sigh, drumming the fingers of her free hand against the tabletop. She can see it already―Puck crossing a line and jokingly asking Quinn "so you're keeping this one, right?" Kurt droning on and on about the latest line he's started up. Spending hours drifting from one room to the other, trying to keep away from Brittany. But she has to be there to congratulate and support Quinn―no matter what she says, Santana knows she's thinking about the baby girl she gave up for adoption years ago―so she accepts, pointedly ignoring Quinn's knowing laughter on the other end of the line.

She shows up with a present wrapped in soft yellow paper and topped with a satiny pink bow. Quinn's eyebrow arches when she answers the door, one hand resting delicately on her stomach, and she sees Santana holding it.

"Just take it," Santana says quickly, cutting Quinn off before she can say anything and scowling. "Don't make this any more nauseating than it has to be."

Quinn takes the present and, after a moment, reaches out and pulls her close, an arm around her neck in an awkward hug. It's like they're back in high school, a baby bump nestling between them as Quinn sighs into her shoulder, uncomfortably overemotional, so Santana breaks the hug gently, clearing her throat.

"I've got better things to do than stand here hugging you all day, Fabray," she says flatly, and Quinn smiles, snapping out of whatever baby-induced sentimental mood she was in.

Once they're inside, Quinn leaves the present on an end table piled with gifts before slipping into the living room, and Santana follows. But she squares her shoulders and curses under her breath, stopping in her tracks as Quinn smiles at her and settles next to Rachel, who's talking to Brittany.

She turns on her heels before Rachel or Brittany sees her, brushing roughly past Tina and taking a seat on the couch next to Puck, who's got the television on mute as he flips through channels.

"How's Operation Win Back Your Woman going?" he asks, although he closes his mouth abruptly once he turns to look at her sideways.

"How do you think it's going?" Santana hisses, eyes narrowed, and Puck shifts awkwardly under her intense glare. She sits back with a sigh, crossing her arms over her chest, but her view of the television is now blocked by Brittany, standing in front of her with arms crossed as she offers a small smile.

Puck vacates his seat as soon as he looks up and sees Brittany, and if he had been within reach, Santana would have yanked him back down because Brittany moves to settle on the couch, entirely too close. They sit in silence for several minutes, Brittany picking at one of the throw pillows she's pulled onto her lap and Santana pretending to watch the golf tournament that Puck landed on.

"Why did you leave?" Santana finally asks quietly, and Brittany looks up, hands going still.

"You were going to leave me," she says, voice small, and Santana sets her jaw, wondering where the hell Brittany got that idea.

"No, I wasn't."

"It would have happened, eventually."

Santana doesn't feel up for explaining all the reasons why that's crazy and completely baseless. They're in a room full of their old team mates and friends at a baby shower―it's really not fair or appropriate to make it about them. So Santana lowers her voice, feeling her shoulder bump up against Brittany's as she whispers in her ear, blonde hair tickling her nose.

"It wouldn't have," she whispers, and Brittany turns, face so close and familiar that Santana has to close her eyes before she does something stupid like lean forward the few inches that separate them and kiss her. "And we could have worked to fix it if it did."

Brittany makes a small noise of surprise, and Santana can imagine her blue eyes wide as if neither thought had ever occurred to her. They probably hadn't. And then she goes for broke because she has nothing left, opening her eyes and finding that Brittany has backed up a little and is looking at her with something that's almost like hope.

"I'd never leave you, B," Santana insists, sliding a hand over one of Brittany's, and Brittany smiles tentatively before it becomes a full-blown grin and she tilts forward, their lips crashing together as she throws arms around Santana's neck, knocking her onto her back down on the couch.

"I'm really glad you two are back together or whatever," Quinn says from somewhere nearby, and Santana lets the kiss linger out of spite and because Brittany's _back_."But this is supposed to be about me."

Brittany sits up, grinning, and Santana sighs slowly, smirking at Quinn once she's got her breath back.

"It's about your brat, Quinn. Not _you_."

Quinn shrugs carelessly, but Santana can tell she's trying not to smile. She turns around, her back to them, and motions over her shoulder for them to get off the couch. "Same thing. Stop sucking face and join the party."

"You think this one's going to come out with a mohawk, too?" Brittany asks as she stands, offering Santana a hand, and Santana takes it, threading their fingers together once Brittany's heaved her up off the couch.

"Probably."

When the day comes, it's more of a dark blonde cowlick than a mohawk, but Santana smiles when she sees it, nudging Brittany's arm pointedly as the nurse places the little bundle in Quinn's arms.

"You were right," Brittany whispers in her ear, understanding what it means. Santana reaches down, catching her hand, and the faint click of their still-new wedding rings sliding against each other as they thread their fingers has her biting back the need to kiss Brittany senseless out of pure happiness and a little bit of relief, like it does every time it happens.

"Wouldn't be the first time," Santana whispers back with a smile.


End file.
